


Lovesick

by aactionjohnny



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Comfort, F/M, New Relationship, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 20:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aactionjohnny/pseuds/aactionjohnny
Summary: She has her doubts about him. But it’s not enough to stop her adoration.





	Lovesick

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fun lil commission and I love these two so much. We didn’t get a lot of content about their early days so I wanted to explore that a bit.

She’s tried so hard not to question her choices. It’s hard, when you’re living off your new boyfriend’s trust fund, dressed in whatever cheap outfit you didn’t feel guilty for buying with his money, watching the clouds roll by outside the window as he wretches into a bucket you’ve so lovingly placed at his bedside.

    Was it worth it? Leaving Hamilton, leaving that mansion. Leaving the prestige and the fame? The Monarch is a gamble. He’s tenacious, and charismatic, and charming, but she can’t know if his determination is strong enough. If his hatred is strong enough to make him the man she knows he can be. If he would just try. If he would just admit that he needs her…

    “H--honey bunny…” He’s taken to calling her such sweet things, already, and it makes her smile and blush like some idiot schoolgirl. Had she been so easily hypnotized by every former lover? She swears she wasn’t. “Is there more tea?”

    His throat must feel like a desert. He’s been at it all morning.

    “I can make some, baby,” she says, sauntering over to him, running a dainty hand down his back as he lays inert, wheezing. It’s their first trial, maybe. The first test of their new love, this. Soon enough he’ll get her sick, and she’ll see. She’ll see if he can give as good as he gets. If he can dote and care.

    She leans down to kiss his clammy forehead. Even sweaty and pallid, she adores that face.

    “Hn…” he mumbles, reaching out to her, vague and aimless, catching only the hem of her skirt. “You’re th...best girlfriend ever…”

    She cannot help her grinning as she fills the kettle anew. Girlfriend. It sounds so teenage and fun when he says it.

    She knows already how he likes his tea. He’d never admit it to anyone but her, but he likes the orange peel kind, with a hint of blueberry and a generous scoop of honey. She sets the water to boil and makes her way back to the bed, climbing in beside him, draping an arm over his shoulder.

    “Still handsome,” she insists, dragging her hand over his neck, lifting it to poke him gently in the nose. God, the things he does with it. Even just the thought of his love makes her knees threaten to buckle, and yet she cannot help but feel that it’s not some fleeting infatuation. He will be permanent, against her better judgment or not.

    He grins, maybe delirious, sliding his arms around her pinched waist and gathering her close. He’s so tall and slim, and his hands always touch her with a reverence she hopes she doesn’t imagine. He has seen her body, noted its perfection. He’s felt her skin and her lips and heard the noises she makes. But when he looks at her, she can tell his hunger is not purely libidinal. She knows because she hungers the same. She wishes so much to devour him in love. Make him hers, and utterly.

    “You know what would make me feel better…” he teases, sliding a hand around her her clavicle, down her sternum. It takes so much of her willpower to resist.

    “Last time we tried that you got snot all over me,” she reminds him, though still she blushes at his touch, still her toes curl at that sly, wanting grin on his face.

    “And you still love me?”

    She pauses, thankful that her face is buried in his neck. They’ve not said that yet. It’s...implied. It does not come easy to her, honesty.

    “I…”

    The kettle whistles and she’s quick to turn, to scramble out of bed and avoid the situation. Avoid the truth, and the words that pump from her heart like blood itself. I love you, I love you, you sweet, terrible man. The whistling grows louder, more shrill, sure to drown out anything she says. It shakes and screeches, unable to stand itself, bursting at its metal seams.

    “Honey Bunny?” he asks, his voice weak and muted beneath the shrieking. Her lips tremble open, and she takes a stabilizing breath. As the whistling fades, she smiles, turns her face back toward her suffering love.

    “Yes. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Contact me on tumblr @ aaction-johnny for commission info


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